Mother Sinclair and her husband, Tamhas, sat at the end of the table to Gray’s right and Sutherland sat to Gray’s left. Three high-backed chairs with brightly embroidered pillows waited between Gray and Mother Sinclair for Lady Trulie, Lady Kenna, and any other guest deemed important enough to share the main table.
Colum had heard that the Lady Trulie remained in her chambers this evening, complaining of feeling a bit unwell. That action alone gave him hope. Surely Lady Trulie wouldn’t miss this evening if her sister was going to do anything as drastic as earlier threatened. That is . . . if the Lady Trulie knew of Kenna’s machinations. Colum sucked down another long draw of ale.
The empty chair bothering Colum the most was the ornately carved armchair sitting beside Lady Kenna’s place. While Sutherland was already seated at Gray’s left, the man continuously glanced at the other seat with a smug, knowing grin. Colum wouldn’t put it past the conniving bastard to switch seats as soon as Kenna arrived.
Diarmuid nodded at the head table again as he plopped his empty cup back onto the table with a loudthwack. “They say Sutherland comes from Ireland.” He nudged harder against Colum and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial slur. “Ye know the Irish canna be trusted.”
Colum ground his teeth against the urge to flip Diarmuid backward off the bench. “Yer mother was Irish, Diarmuid.”
Diarmuid frowned and rolled his eyes toward the rafters, stained nearly black from years of smoky fires. He rubbed his chin and thoughtfully nodded. “So, she was.” Scowling at the main table again, He scratched the side of his head with his knuckles. “But never mind that—how did an Irishman end up chieftain of such a powerful Scottish clan?”
“I have no way of knowing and nor do I particularly care. My only concern right now is that the man wants my woman.” Colum clenched the mug of ale until his knuckles popped.
“If ye are afraid this suitor will be the one to win her over, then make yer claim, man.” Diarmuid suddenly sat straighter on the bench, his attention perking like a hunting dog on point. With a subtle wink at Colum, he grinned at the serving girl standing in the kitchen archway and motioned her toward them with a wave of his empty mug. “What I fail to understand is why Sutherland has ye so rattled. Ye nay even bothered coming to the meal when the others showed up asking for Lady Kenna’s hand.”
“The Lady Kenna was not so cross with me when the others came.” Frustration building, Colum spun his mug in one hand, then took another long draft of the tangy liquid. The welcome burn trailed down to his belly. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stared at the worn scratches running the length of the table. “I dinna think she has the patience to wait until I have our home built and readied. The more she helps tend the wee daughter of our chieftain, the more difficult life with Lady Kenna becomes. She is quite . . . tense.”Tensewasn’t exactly the perfect word to describe the mess his relationship with Kenna had become, but it was all the information he was going to share with Diarmuid. The man gossiped worse than the servants.
“Ye are a strange man, Colum Garrison.” Diarmuid rolled back on the bench and swung one long leg over it. “If the woman gives no care as to where she lives, why the hell should ye care if ye live in a croft or a keep?”
“Because she deserves better. Her sister is married to my chief.”
“Aye. Well.” Diarmuid nodded as he rose from the bench. “There is that but yer damnable pride will surely be yer undoing, ye ken?” Opening his arms wide, Diarmuid winked at the curvy maid heading his way with another tankard of ale. “Come to me, my fine beauty. Do ye not think an evening stroll in the gardens would be lovely after the clutter of this room?”
The well-endowed girl giggled behind her hand. Her eyes sparkled with an unspokenyesas the swing of her hips grew even more pronounced.
Diarmuid’s grin widened as he wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and looked back over his shoulder at Colum. “I know women. If ye want the lass, ye best get on with the claiming before ye lose her to the likes of Sutherland.”
Why was it everyone knew what he needed to do and felt compelled to give him their damn opinion? Colum drained the remainder of his ale and slammed his cup back onto the table. The clatter echoed through the now silent hall. All conversation had ceased as one by one, every head turned toward the archway.
And there she stood.
Colum shifted on the bench. Kenna still wore that damn dress that accentuated the depths of her deep green eyes and offered up her creamy bosoms on a platter. Heaven help him, he had loved her since the day she dropped out of that storm cloud and landed beside him. The woman had sealed her claim on his heart when she had threatened to pelt him with a stone from the cairn. He never could resist a fiery woman. Colum squirmed again, glaring at the rich sheen of the sapphire dress and how it accentuated her every curve.
He held his breath as she floated across the floor with the grace and surety of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and was not afraid to claim it. As she moved down the center aisle, she smiled and nodded to all in the room. When her gaze settled on him, her eyes narrowed the slightest bit and her full pink lips flattened into a disapproving line. That settled it. Hismo nighean donnwas still angry.
Chieftain Sutherland stood as she reached the head table and paused before going to her seat. Colum flattened his hands on either side of his mug and dug his nails hard into the rough grain of the wood plank table. The urge to unsheathe his sword and leap over the table burned through him. His palms itched with the wanting of it. If Sutherland so much as dared to breathe the wrong way, Colum would slit the bastard’s throat at first chance.
“May I present my wife’s fair sister?” Gray stood and motioned at Kenna. “The Lady Kenna Sinclair.”
“Yer keep is truly blessed with beauty.” Chieftain Sutherland nodded at Kenna and pressed a hand over his heart. “It is an honor and a pleasure to find myself in such delightful company, m’lady.”
Gray’s eyes narrowed slightly as his focus shifted from Ronan’s beaming face to Colum and then just as quickly returned to Kenna. “Chieftain Ronan Sutherland has traveled quite the distance to meet ye, Lady Kenna.”
Damn Gray. Damn him straight to hell.Each time, just as the chieftain spoke; he made brief eye contact with Colum. It was the hastiest look but just long enough to goad Colum like the jabbing of a sharp stick. Gray was pushing him to ask for Kenna’s hand when he knew damn well, he couldn’t do it. Not yet.
He had to get closer. Listening to their stilted conversation from this far away did him little good. He needed to be able to clearly see Kenna’s expressions and hear the nuance of her words. Staring at the woman’s delightful backside didn’t tell him a thing about what whirled in her head.
Colum rose from the bench, ambled his way around the perimeter of the room, and slid into his usual place as man-at-arms just to the back of the chieftain’s table. The tapestry of the MacKenna clan crest to the right of the hearth slowly wafted against his shoulder, as though supporting him in defending his woman. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and widened his stance. Much better. From this position just behind Gray’s chair, he could see and hear it all. And pick up on all nuances.
He caught Kenna’s attention, puffed out his chest, and smiled. Surely, from this perfect vantage point, he could manage any situation that might arise. A deadly calm settled through him—until his lady love rolled her eyes, then returned her attention to Gray and Sutherland.
She stepped forward, her face blossoming with an expression of delight as she smiled up at the visiting chieftain. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chieftain Sutherland. I look forward to hearing more about your part of Scotland and Ireland.”
“Please, my lady.” Ronan swiftly moved until he stood directly in front of her and held out his hand. “Please call me Ronan.”
Blood roared in Colum’s ears as her smile widened and her hand slid into Sutherland’s hand. A red haze distorted his vision as the sly bastard bent and lightly brushed a kiss across the top of her fingers.
“Thank you, Ronan,” she cooed as Sutherland released her hand. With the daintiest of moves, she pressed it to the braided belt accentuating the curve of her fine hips and narrow waist. She lowered her gaze and peeked up at him with a teasing flutter of her long dark lashes.
